eight legs
by cedricsowner
Summary: Unbeknownst to them, Guerrero's and Winston's paths crossed before they actually met. Series of one-shots leading up to the confrontation between Guerrero and Junior in "Christopher Chance". Guerrero & a woman.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Guerrero reached for the doorknob, flinched, took a step back and froze.

"What you're experiencing right now are the first symptoms of a poisoning with pseudaconitine, a rather deadly alkaloid that's obtained from a plant called Wolfsbane", an ominous female voice behind him whispered. "At first there'll be some burning and tingling, that's the funny sensation in your hand and arm bothering you right now. It'll soon be followed by sudden, uncontrollable weakness of the extremities. As the substance spreads, your body temperature will drop, making you think that icy water is running through your veins. It'll also affect your breathing: At first it'll be rapid, then slow, and finally... " She let the sentence trail off. "A spectacular-looking dark red ring will develop around the puncture site. When it has reached the size of a dollar coin and turned black, it'll be too late for the antidote." She paused again. "In some cases it's a matter of ten minutes."

"Who are you?", Guerrero asked, swaying slightly.

"The person you screwed out of her hard-earned payment", she hissed angrily, side-stepped him and replaced the manipulated doorknob with the real one. "Don't even think of attacking me. This here..." she held up a small glass bottle "…is the antidote. Very hard to get. You try anything, I'll crack the vial - goodbye Guerrero."

"Effective way to control a target." He was visibly trying to slow down his breathing. "And no need for a gun."

"I don't like guns. They're inelegant and crude. Any fool can use a gun." She pushed the cheap motel room's door open. "Move."

As Guerrero stumbled into the room, he saw his attacker properly for the first time. She was surprisingly young. Pretty, in an unconventional way – slim and tiny, deceivingly fragile. A bit pale, maybe, but eyes like dark lakes. No wonder she had used theatrical tricks in her little entrance speech. Most people probably didn't take her seriously. But from what Guerrero had heard, usually only once.

"Apparently, recently passed away industrial tycoon Mr. Reginald Stevenson had more than one enemy. If I figured this out correctly, you and I were both hired to kill him, but by different clients. I got to him first, finished the job in my usual gracious, hard-to-trace way and then you came in with your plump men's toy of a 45er, discovered that he had already bitten the dust and decided to tell your client it was your work. Unfortunately _my_ client got wind of that and refused to pay me." More out of habit than any real interest she patted him down.

Guerrero's legs threatened to give way. He fought it, managed to stay upright for another moment but in the end had no other choice than dropping to his knees. "It's not my problem if you can't enforce your claims", he coughed.

"I want my money. I sacrificed Mildred for that job, I'm not going to get screwed out of what is rightfully mine."

"Mildred?"

"The spider that bit Stevenson. He squashed her in his death throes."

"You're giving your murder weapons _names_?", he wheezed. His breathing sounded like an old-fashioned locomotive.

"See that laptop over there? I want you to transfer the sum you owe me onto one of my accounts. Now."

"Otherwise?" Guerrero was clutching himself now, shivering all over.

"From the rapidity of your digression, I'd say five more minutes."

Hunched over, shaking violently from side to side, Guerrero slowly opened the palm of his hand and stared into it. "Oh my God…"

The woman rolled her eyes. Somehow she had expected the famous Guerrero to be less … dramatic.

He turned his palm towards her.

It took her a second to understand that the inner side of his hand was clean. No black circle.

A second too long.

With one fluent, incredibly fast movement Guerrero was on his feet, sent her crashing to the ground with a fierce kick and drew his hidden gun. The vial she had been holding flew out of her hand and landed unharmed on the floor.

Smirking, Guerrero stepped on it. The glass cracked and the opaque substance trickled into the carped. "Maybe you should rethink your aversion to guns", he told her.

"You didn't really touch the doorknob", she groaned, wrapping her arms around her ribcage.

"An unknown potential client sets up a meeting in a run-down motel and you think I'm gonna fall for it? Tsk, tsk…." He pointed the gun straight at her head. "Thanks for informing me about all the symptoms. Made fooling you all the easier."

Now it was her turn to draw ragged breathes, and hers weren't faked. "Okay, so I've tried to get the better of you, didn't work, what comes next?"

"Usually people try to run from me. "Try" being the operative word here. But I fear you're past that point." He took out handcuffs and duct tape. Time to make a statement. Although, he had to admit, it was a pity. On the other hand… he had a reputation to protect.

He tilted his gun to indicate that she should roll into prone position. And roll she did…

With a surprisingly swift motion, considering that she had been cradling her ribcage only seconds earlier, she rolled over, jumped to her feet and at the same moment threw something at him that immediately clawed itself into his right jacket sleeve .

A black scorpion.

"You're carrying a _live_ black scorpion around in your shirt?"

"Developing a closer relationship with your murder weapons does have its benefits", she hissed, quickly collecting the laptop and backing out of the room.

Gone she was.

The scorpion on his sleeve still just sat there, but its tail was erect the impressive sting surely wasn't just for show.

"Not bad…", Guerrero mused, studying his new opponent carefully. "Not bad at all…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Her feet had hardly crossed the doorstep when her cell phone rang. She looked at the number on the display and arched her eyebrows in surprise.

"Mr. Westhaven." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, ahem, well, I'm glad I got hold of you immediately…" He sounded a bit hoarse.

She decided to remain silent.

"Ahem… Last time we talked… well, um… I think we might not have parted under the best of terms…"

For the CEO of a large industrial conglomerate he was using quite a lot of "ahems" and "ums" in his sentences.

"One could say so."

"The thing is… I've reevaluated my decision not to compensate you for the…service… you rendered for me…" He swallowed audibly.

"You've got my full attention."

"My decision might have been a bit… um… shortsighted…." He coughed. "You've done a first-rate job and I've decided to not only immediately pay what I owe you but also add an extra bonus to reimburse you for any inconvenience my…ahem… unprofessional and dishonest… conduct might have caused."

She broke into merry laughter.

"Hand him the phone, will you?"

Her request caused a shocked silence on the other end of the line. It took two audible gulps and a sharp intake of breath till Westhaven was able to ask a timid: _"Him?"_

"The man who's currently pointing a gun at your head. I'd like to talk to him."

Quiet rustling as the phone was handed over, then silence. She knew he was listening now. "I really don't need a knight in shining armor to fight my battles for me, you know."

"This is not about you. Clients have to know their place."

"Ah yes, the enforcement of fundamental principles in our profession. Just because we operate a little outside the realms of socially accepted entrepreneurship doesn't mean we don't have rules. Fascinating topic." She opened her purse and took out the medium-sized gift box one of her contact persons had handed her this morning. "I'd be willing to discuss it over a cup of coffee, some time in the near future…."

"Grateful after all?"

"Not for the knight in shining armor-act. But the gift was very considerate." She turned the box in her hand, admiring its beautiful wrapping – white tissue paper and a dark red silk ribbon with golden edges.

"I'll contact you about time and place." He hung up the phone.

Humming slightly to herself, she took the gift box and carried it downstairs. As she carefully lifted the box' lid, a radiant smile spread across her face.

"Welcome home, Eddie", she whispered as she slowly lowered the black scorpion into its terrarium.

_**... ... ...**_

_**A/N: I know it's idiotic to first post a middle chapter and then start adding the beginning, but I swear I'm not doing this on purpose! Guerrero just wouldn't leave me alone. He really doesn't like Winston take a leading role... MEN! **_

_**If you have formed any kind of opinion on this, it would be really nice if you'd let me know in a review... **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

The first thing Junior saw was a dark tan snake with a round-snouted head staring at him with cold, blackish brown eyes. More out of reflex than reflection he tried to sit up. The sudden movement sent searing spasms of pain through his upper body.

"Don't let Emma bother you. We don't have that many visitors. She's just trying to figure out whether you're a friend or a big chunk of future dinner."

A young woman sat down next to Junior's makeshift bed on a leather couch. He had never seen her before, but he had a very good idea who she was. More cautious than the first time, he tried to sit up again. "That's an Inland Taipan!" His vision swam. "Most venomous snake on earth…" The sudden onslaught of a major headache made him groan.

"She's behind glass, don't worry." The woman handed him a glass of water. "You should stay lying down for a while. We had to sedate you quite heavily to get to that bullet."

Elusive shreds of memory reemerged as he tried to recollect what had happened in the last 24 hours. "Guerrero?", he asked.

"He's fine. Just a graze on the shoulder. He went back to the Old Man to give an explanation." A deep frown formed on her forehead.

Junior took a sip from the water. "He shouldn't have gone alone. It was my fault."

The frown deepened. "I can only agree with that." She refilled his still almost full glass with so much force that some of the water spilt over. "Guerrero said you've been acting weird lately. Ever since you collided with that bodyguard in San Francisco you haven't been quite yourself and it's getting worse lately. Now, I'm not one to condemn you for taking a step back and reflecting on our chosen profession now and then. I'm falling prey to that habit from time to time, too. But putting others at risk is a totally different thing. You hesitated and the job went south. A mistake that almost killed you and, more importantly, Guerrero." She looked him directly in the eyes.

"Do that again and you'll regret it."

It was more than a gut feeling that told Junior she wasn't making an empty threat. "The water tasted funny", he muttered. His tongue was suddenly feeling fuzzy and his eye-lids seemed to grow heavier with every passing second.

"This time it was only a sedative to keep you down. But as you said…" She nodded in the direction of Emma. "…most venomous snake on earth."

… … …

"He still asleep?" Guerrero walked straight into her bedroom. For a moment he stood still like a stature, but she could tell from the stony look on his face and the tension in his shoulders that he was greatly agitated.

"I sedated him again… ", she began, watching him closely.

After a few seconds of just staring at her he darted forward and grabbed the teddy bear she was keeping on her nightstand. He dug his fingers into it like they were claws, squeezed it fiercely and finally threw it across the room.

"Hey, what are you doing? Are you angry with _me_?" She bent to pick up the teddy bear.

"Leave the damn thing where it is!" She didn't listen, reached for it despite his order and in no time at all he was at her side, smacked it out of her hand and sent it flying to the floor.

"Guerrero!"

"Throw it away! Forget the girl it belonged to! You can't change what you did, no matter how long you stare at it and despise yourself!" He was outraged and an outraged Guerrero was a very scary sight, even to her.

"I really don't know why you're tearing into me like that right now. Where is this coming from?"

With a sharp outcry Guerrero pushed her backwards onto the bed. "You and Junior, you're both doing the same thing! You're questioning yourselves! And you are even worse than he is! I know about the officer you helped last month with the viper and about that "anonymous" tip that helped to catch that tarantula… You regret your past deeds and Junior is on the verge of going into the same direction… Today this kind of mindset almost killed him and I don't…"

He pinned her down on the bedspread with so much force, it made her moan in pain.

"…I don't…"

He let go of her wrists, only to slam his hands down on her shoulders.

"I don't want…"

She caught his forearms in midair before he could hit her again and turned the onslaught into a tight embrace.

"This is not in your hands, Guerrero" she whispered, pulling his face close to her chest. "Not in your hands…"


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"Okay, first of all I suggest you don't move." The suspiciously young woman squinted her eyes and stared intensely at his naked chest.

"Wow, now that's one hell of an advice. Would have never thought of that myself!"

"Sarcasm isn't helping anyone, Detective Winston", she indignantly pointed out.

Winston stifled a sigh. She was right – this was not the time to let his temper get the better of him. He decided to focus on her appearance instead of the highly frustrating situation he had found himself in this morning after waking up with a heavy hangover. His colleagues were probably laughing their asses off right about now…

_Focus on the girl!_

Had she ever seen herself in a mirror? Her odd, helmet-like hairstyle and the large glasses on her tiny nose made her look like an owl, but not the wise and imperturbable kind, more the "I woke up in the middle of the day and don't know where I am shoohooo"-kind. The university's representative had promised they would send "the best we've got available". Come to think of it that could mean anything and everything between world famous professor of entomology and "I actually wanted to enroll for ethnology"- freshman.

"Is there anything you can tell us yet?", the chief asked owl-girl via earpiece. After discovering that the perpetrator was already gone and the whole construction wasn't booby trapped, they had decided to leave her alone with Winston. The more people in the room, the more vibrations transmitted from the floor up the bedposts on to his tightly strapped to the bed frame body. Vibrations made arachnids nervous. Winston had quite a few enemies in the department and the idea was tempting, but they didn't want _that_.

No, no they didn't.

"It's either a golden silk orb weaver or a Brazilian wandering spider, commonly known as banana spider", she replied, still closely studying the animal.

"And that would mean, for us non-entomologists out here?"

"In the first case Detective Winston seriously pissed someone off and she decided to play an elaborated prank on him. In the second case Detective Winston seriously pissed someone off and she decided to kill him." The girl changed position to look at the spider and the construction from a different angle.

"What makes you think it was a "she"?", Winston asked.

"You're the cop, do I really need to tell you that 75% of all murders committed by women are poisonings? Granted, intelligent male killers who are certain of their manhood use poison, too, but the circumstances here indicate a perpetrator that couldn't rely on physical strength to overpower you. Poison is an elegant method, easy to apply and hard to trace – unless you want to make a statement, as seems to be the case here." She studied the construction that had been attached to the detective's chest with utter fascination: A five-wall glass box, glued to the skin with industrial instant adhesive – really tough stuff. And inside the spider. With a little sedative, slipped into a drink, the set up shouldn't be a problem. Great way to scare the living daylights out of someone.

"Okay, whoever did that meant business", she finally decided. "It's a Brazilian wandering spider. In Guinness World Records 2010 they appear as the world's most venomous spider." Winston pressed the back of his head against his pillow and drew in a shallow breath. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Relax", she told him. "I promise I'll fix this." Quiet as a mouse she slipped out of the room.

"You should remain as motionless as possible", the chief told his detective via earpiece a few minutes later. "This university woman just told us that banana spiders are extremely aggressive and ready to attack at the slightest provocation." He cut the connection.

"Didn't she actually say this kind of spiders is rather timid?", one of his lieutenants asked.

"Do you remember the stunt Winston pulled at the policeman's ball last year and I said one day I would pay him back for that?

When owl-girl finally returned, she was carrying a syringe.

"Couldn't you have sedated me a little earlier?", Winston asked, his forehead covered in sweat.

"That's not for you, it's for the spider. The needle is small enough to fit through the gap between glass and skin. I'll position a droplet of Trihectachloride inside the glass. That's a natural opiate that male spiders use to sedate their females with in order to escape getting eaten after mating. It evaporates at room temperature – this will be over in two minutes." She carefully pushed the needle through the gap. The spider lifted her body into an erect position so that the black-striped pattern on its underside became visible. "That's the defensive stance", she explained. "But unless it starts rocking back and forth there's no need to… uh-oh…"

The entire animal was swaying from side to side.

"Just relax…"

Was she talking to the spider or to him?

Slowly, endlessly slowly the tiny droplet evaporated and the spider fell into a state of paralysis.

Pleased with herself, owl-girl patted Winston's sweaty shoulder, shook the chief's hand and left without further ado while crime scene investigation prepared to have a field day in Winston's bedroom. Luminol! Fingerprint powder! A microscopic look at his bed sheet! And maybe the chief would allow them to remove the carpet…? For further investigation in the laboratory…?

As mentioned before, Winston had quite a few enemies in the department….

Just as he was readying himself to throw his smirking colleagues out of his apartment, the chief received a telephone call:

"What do you mean, unfortunately you can't send an expert on spiders before six p.m.? But who…?"

… … …

"Helping the police again?" Guerrero asked, removing the wig and taking the ridiculous glasses off her face. "One day someone will recognize you." He carefully wiped a strand of hair away from her forehead. "I don't want you to have to take that pill you're always carrying around."

They both fell silent for a moment. Guerrero wrapped his hands around her slim waist, swaying her from side to side. The bigwigs she had worked for wouldn't venture her giving a testimony. He also understood that she didn't want to be shot on her way to the courtroom like a rabid dog or stabbed by some drug addict cellmate with a sharpened pencil. Thus the pill. But why take the risk of helping the police? He didn't believe in the concept of redemption and there was no chance in hell he would ever change his mind about that issue.

"Hey, I've found a great way to get that corporate suit from WressPro do whatever you want!", she suddenly laughed, breaking the somber atmosphere. "You'll just love this. All you need is a glass box, superglue and one of my spiders."

_**A/N: Reviews make my day better… **_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"We should just go ahead and shoot the ugly thing", a tall detective with a red moustache suggested. Common assent spread among the assembly of Palo Alto's finest. They had never had a crazy case like that before and pretty much every member of the force not bound by unpostponable appointments had shown up at the warehouse.

"I wouldn't do that", a female voice chimed in. Everyone turned. A young woman, rather tiny, pale and a little fragile-looking was leaning against one of the warehouse's gate posts. "Komodo dragons have a very thick hide. Unless you're planning to use a pump-action shotgun chances are you merely hurt it – and significantly raise its level of aggression. Komodo dragons are active hunters, able to take down water buffalos and horses with their strong tail. Their bites are poisonous. And these claws are not for show either. Shooting the dragon would put the victim's life at risk."

"Somebody should tell her that platform shoes don't become her", the tall detective thought.

"Mary Silver, Berkeley's department of Zoology sent me", she introduced herself, walking right into the middle of the circle the policemen had formed around the construction that posed quite a challenge to them. With great interest she studied the complex structure someone with a lot of time and unresolved anger management issues at his hands had built: A large square steel cage, solidly cemented to the ground with a wooden chair screwed to the floor in its exact center and chained to it a blindfolded, gagged man in a business suit. Ah yes, and an eight foot komodo dragon.

Not chained.

"So, Mr. Investment banker here made a couple of bad investments and one of his clients decided to pay him back? Understandable reaction, but he shouldn't have involved his poor pet in this." The woman's eyes never left the pacing lizard. She admired komodo dragons. In her opinion they were beautiful creatures, archaic beasts straight from the days when the world had been young. She had never used one for an assignment, though. They weren't handy enough. One just couldn't walk around with a komodo dragon in the open for long without somebody starting to ask stupid questions. "I suggest you feed it a bloody chunk of meat with a sedative. Komodo dragons love carrion. They can locate a dying animal from a range of 15 miles."

After some humming and hawing everyone agreed it was a good idea.

She should have left at that point. Pretended an urgent appointment or something like that. The dragon was safe, there was no need to worry about it anymore. But the victim... She had seen the man's body visibly relax once he had heard that an expert was around. He was caught in a damn uncomfortable situation. Would she want to be alone with a herd of incompetent cops under similar circumstances? She decided to stick around a little longer.

The tall detective couldn't keep his eyes off the tiny woman. He had seen her before, he was sure. Quiet as a mouse he left the warehouse to make some phone calls.

… … …

"Looks like Palo Alto is seeing its biggest case in the past twenty years", the chief said. "They might get their hands on one of the world's most wanted assassins, a woman who is known as Box."

_"Box?" _Winston looked up from the pile of paperwork that cluttered his desk.

"As in _box jellyfish_. Almost invisible and very deadly. She uses poison to kill. Apparently she's helping out at a bizarre crime scene. "

"She's _helping out_?"

"Weird, eh? Won't help her, though. With that kind body toll to her credit, she's heading straight for death row."

Winston weighed his head as he looked at the file the chief showed him. "Clever girl. You sure this isn't too big a catch to handle for Palo Alto? Maybe some precautions would be advisable. If I was to arrest her, I would…"

… … …

Guerrero would kill her for that.

He would tell her – in no uncertain terms – that she had been sloppy, foolish, careless… . And he would be so right. This time she had really gotten herself into trouble. But nothing was lost yet. Apparently they felt confident that two policemen were sufficient to transport her safely to San Francisco, where the next super-max was located. They didn't seem to expect any kind of escape attempt. Being tiny and fragile-looking had its upsides.

Of course they had checked her for weapons, but despite Guerrero's insistence she just couldn't bring herself to carry one. Anyway, what good would it have done her if she had had one today? What should she have done, shoot herself an aisle through the crowd of policemen? No, there were more elegant ways.

With a little wiggling of her toes she triggered the mechanism that released the soles of her shoes' heels so that they slid to the side. The heels were both hollow, but not empty. Asian tiger mosquitoes don't need a lot of space…

Now timing was everything – the spray pump that was hidden in her watch which they foolishly hadn't taken away contained only very little of that heavy perfume that made these special species extraordinarily aggressive, but sprayed in the direction of the officers it nevertheless worked miracles.

A few moments later she climbed out of the wrecked police car and disappeared into the maze of San Francisco's hilly streets. Getting home definitely posed a problem since her car – actually Guerrero's car which she had borrowed for the day – was still in Palo Alto and most likely in police custody right now.

Oh, Guerrero would kill her for that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"I hate to admit it, but every now and then that rotten mind of yours comes up with a useful thought." The chief shook his head in disbelief. "They picked up the tracker signal. She's heading towards SOMA. Wanna join the hunt? Not quite our jurisdiction, but it was your idea after all."

Winston grabbed his 45. and took off.

… … …

Suddenly she understood how they had been able to find her. Damn devious bastards! They must have put a tracker on her somewhere… She needed to get rid of that tracker, otherwise running away was useless. Patting herself down hectically, she stopped.

At this very moment someone shone a flashlight beam directly into her eyes.

"SFPD! Stay right where you are!", a male voice bellowed.

No, she wasn't going to do that. No way.

… … …

Sometimes Guerrero could hear Junior talking to him even though he wasn't present. At the moment he was teasing him.

"Are you worried?"

He could easily imagine his friend's boyish grin at the idea of Guerrero, showing signs of attachment.

"No, I'm not. She's probably just in the middle of something and can't answer." He snapped his phone shut and only then realized that he had spoken aloud to himself.

Angrily he slammed his fist down on the foldout table, attracting the flight attendant's attention. "Everything okay, sir? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No", he replied tersely. "Everything is fine, thank you."

… … …

A shot rang out, followed by a muffled cry. Winston heard footsteps approaching in his direction and shortly after a dark shadow came into view.

"Freeze!", he shouted, but the silhouette instead turned into the other direction and headed down a side alley.

Winston gave chase, radioing his position to his colleagues. As far as he knew the perpetrator was a young woman, he wouldn't be able to catch her, not in the shape he was in. For the millionth time he told himself that it would be a good idea to hit a gym regularly.

To his utter astonishment he caught site of the escapee at the far end of the alley.

Considering that he was moving forward with the speed of a steam locomotive just getting started, she should have been already gone. Something was wrong here. Was she seeking a confrontation?

The dark shadow tumbled, hit several garbage cans and finally collapsed to the ground.

"Don't move", Winston yelled. "I'm pointing a gun right at you!" His duty weapon cocked, he inched closer to the fallen figure.

Suddenly a searchlight beam from the helicopter bathed the backyard in blinding light and revealed the perpetrator's face.

Taken by surprise, Winston froze. "It's you!"

With every ounce of power left in her body she lashed out with a kick aimed at his arm.

… … …

The apartment was dark and the air felt stale.

Guerrero dropped his bag where he was standing.

"Alice?"

But all that answered was grim silence.

… … …

Winston lost his weapon when her foot hit his wrist. It flew high up in the air and clattered down somewhere behind his back. The helicopter had apparently moved on without taking notice of the struggle in the alley. It was dark again and Winston received a punch to the face he hadn't seen coming. The impact sent him swaying as the girl reached for his jacket.

Why?

Odd move.

Was she trying to get his gun? Hadn't she heard it fall?

He pushed forward, tried to get hold of her forearms and unintentionally lost his footing in the debris that surrounded the garbage cans. Clinging together in what must have looked like an awkward dance move, they crashed to the ground, him pinning her down with his body weight.

"Don't move!", he told her again, but her tiny body struggled against his weight in vehement spasms.

"Stop it!"

He grabbed her shoulders and used his knees to get control of her legs.

Just then the helicopter came back and bathed them in merciless white light again. His veins turned to ice as Winston caught sight of his hands on her shoulders. They were covered in crimson black blood. Her whole abdomen area was a pool of crimson black blood.

"We need an ambulance", he yelled, hoping that one of his colleagues was in hearing distance.

"No", she whispered. "No." She reached for his jacket again, leaving more bloody prints where she had already tried to hold on before the fall in an attempt to steady herself.

"Let me leave", she gasped.

He knew what she meant.

"Winston?" One of his colleagues had indeed been in hearing distance. "You got her? The pilot radioed that she's hurt. An ambulance is on the way."

Her eyes like dark lakes rested upon him. Thin trails of blood were oozing out of her nose and mouth, making it difficult for her to breath. It was a spur of the moment decision. There was no alternative way of helping her.

"Stay away!", he shouted at this colleague.

"What?"

"I said, stay away! Everyone. No one comes close, understood?"

He released her legs, kneeled down beside her, pulled her on his lap and held her till her body slumped lifelessly in his arms.

… … …

Guerrero heard it on the news.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"You know, in all these years of owning and acquiring exotic reptiles, I've never been interviewed this thoroughly prior to a purchase. I feel like I've been interrogated by Homeland Security or something." The middle-aged man tried to hide his uneasiness by putting on a lopsided smile. "What comes next? Are you going to ask me for permission to take a look at my computer's hard disk?"

"_Permission_?"

The man's smile froze. "I… I promise I'll treat this Taipan like one of my children… better!... I swear, I've never seen a more beautiful and well-kept exemplar and I'll do everything in my power to keep it that way." Jesus, this vendor seriously gave him the creeps.

"I expect nothing less of you."

… … …

The chief hadn't been exactly thrilled by his decision to hold the woman in his arms till she died instead of letting the EMTs try their luck. Most likely the reason he had assigned him to this going-nowhere case regarding the shootout at the docks… A professional hit, a shaky witness who insisted she didn't know anything… There was nothing he could work on and the chief knew that very well – this case was a dead end.

Winston looked at his hands and wondered. He had done some research: The woman's (he just hated calling her "Box" – too close to "coffin") appearance at his bedside and at the warehouse in Palo Alto hadn't been singular events. He had found at least twenty cases all over the USA involving a mysterious expert for poisonous animals and plants showing up and helping out in dire situations. On several occasions she had put her life on the line to safe a victim.

He looked at his hands again. The blood had been washed off days ago, but they still felt sticky.

It had been _his_ idea to put the tracker on her. His idea that had eventually killed her.

He still remembered her squeezing his left hand and telling him to relax.

Had she not died a miserable death in his arms, slowly suffocating from the blood in her lungs, would he have wanted her to go to court and eventually face the chair? Would he have wasted another thought on her?

She had been a ruthless assassin. And she had tried to change her ways.

What a dilemma…

Enough to make you drink at 2.30 in the afternoon.

"I just have whatever he's having", a man in a business suit he had never seen before said, taking a seat right next to him. "Rough day at work?", he asked.

One could say so.

… … …

The Old Man's voice on the phone: "Junior is off the reservation. Drop everything come handle this."

In the days past Alice's demise Guerrero had refused to take on assignments from Joubert's organization, claiming to be busy with another job. Of course he hadn't told them what had really happened. Except for Junior nobody had been aware of their relationship, so why should he inform them about her death? So that they would respect his need for a period of mourning?

Sure.

Besides that, he still had a reputation to protect. If the others knew about Box having been his girlfriend they would expect nothing less of him than making those police officers pay big time – both of them: The one who had shot her and the one who had told the EMTs to stay away. But Guerrero hadn't even bothered to find out their names. He could easily imagine Alice asking the policeman to let her die. Had she not bled to death, she would have taken the pill. And regarding the other one, the one that had shot her… this decision had been a lot harder, but if he was honest to himself, it hadn't been that cop's fault.

_It had been his. _

He shouldn't have tolerated her idiotic behavior. He should have put a stop to it.

And now Junior…

Maybe he could do right with him what he had done wrong with Alice. He would finish the job for him and then take him somewhere. Talk sense into him. Set his head straight. Confront him – maybe fight him so he could reconnect with his instincts.

"I'm on my way", Guerrero told the Old Man.

… … …

"Quit acting like a baby…"

Even while he was saying it he knew it was useless. All hopes he had had before walking into that cabin had vanished the second he saw his friend and the way he pointed the gun at him. Junior was beyond rescue. He wasn't willing to listen, he had made up his mind. Just as stubborn as Alice had been. He was going to lose him, just like he had lost her, maybe as soon as tomorrow, maybe in a year or two. But he would lose him.

He wasn't going to stick around and watch his friend slowly destroy himself. No chance in hell.

There was only one thing left he could do.

Either way, it would mean goodbye.

… … …

The interrogator's voice, so many years later: "I imagine at some point during that confrontation you had the opportunity to end things. Why didn't you?"

"My heart grew three sizes that day", he spat. But the true answer was ringing loud and clear in his head.

"Because it was in my hands. That one time it was in my hands…"

**the end**


End file.
